One Week
by thankmelautner
Summary: Sam is taking care of the twins at home while Puck is off in the air force.


Puck waved to Nathan and Natasha. This had always seemed to be the hard part. "Bye kiddies!" His voice went up a few octaves and he showed them as many teeth through the huge grin displayed on his face. After the long chorus of 'Bye, Daddy!', Noah's hazel eyes shifted to watch the kids run from out of view. Then, hesitantly Puck meet the green gaze of his one and only. "Hey babe." He said, all these months of intensive training could never prepare the man for this.

"I miss you." Sam spoke, Noah knew that his voice could possibly crack at any second and he was keeping it together for the kids and his man right now. His missed his husband's voice, he would give everything to see him, to touch him, to tell him directly how much he loved him.

"I know, I miss you too. One more week?" He asked Puck, and the man nodded happily. One more week until he could hug his children again, one more week until his could kiss his husband again, to feel that ever present calming heat that Sam never failed to provide.

"One more week." He confirmed. "So, how are you holding up?" Noah knew that this was a dumb question, but it just seemed like it should be asked.

"We're doing fine, we just miss you is all. I got promoted to editor in chief." A slight smile was brought to his man's lips. Puck had remembered how Sam had been so excited when he got a job at the world famous DC comics, and now he was editor in chief.

Puck's face was guarded, serious. "Sam, I'll be home soon. Count down the days." He was trying to give Sam some type of encouragement, he knew his blonde missed him and even his words were enough to let Puck know that he was trying, struggling but trying.

"I know. I love you."

"I love you, too."

And with that, he ended the call and burst into tears.

—-

"Daddy what's wrong?" Nathan looked up at Sam, tugging on his shirt, who was steady trying to wipe his face from the river of tears streaming from his eyes.

"Uh, nothing, go play with your sister." He put on one of his best smiles before turning off the computer and standing up, "I'm going to start dinner." When the blonde, mohwaked boy grinned and darted out of the front door to their homey one story home, Sam turned into the kitchen and pulled out some beef to brown.

He missed Noah, he couldn't help it. The brunette had been the love of his life since he came back from Tennessee during the second semester of high school, senior year. He'd remembered them playing football together, singing practically every song they could together in glee club, even graduating and going to the same college together.

They got married and settled down in New York and had two kids together (via surrogates of course), Nathan, who looked just like Sam with a Mohawk and Natasha, who looked just like her father.

Then Puck decided to go to the air force.

He continued to chop up the lettuce, he was making tacos. When he scooped the lettuce up and put it in the bowl, the knife bit into his skin. He hissed and cried out.

"Sh—"

—-

"—it!" Puck darted across the field into an alley. Their camp had been under attack as soon as he wiped away his tears from earlier. Hazel eyes darting from side to side, Puck stood, and peeked around the corner, snatching his body back before a bullet caught him in the face. It ricocheted off of the wall and made a cloud of pummeled brick rise. He exhaled, he was cornered, his only choice was to go deeper in the alley and that's what he did. God that was close.

He made his way down the alley, darting from side to side to confuse possible snipers until he got to the other side. It was clear. Glad he found another soldier, it was Hudson. Or in his case, Sasquatch. Noah had never been so happy to see the giant man again in his life; he darted towards him and didn't even hear the click of a gun behind him.

—-

Sam set all the plates down with the different toppings on them around the table. There was freshly cut lettuce, tomatoes, onions and green peppers , shredded cheese, sour cream and salsa. "N Squared, come get your food!" He called out of the window and not too much longer the kids came rushing in.

"Nu-uh, you know to wash your hands first."

The groaned in unison before turning on their heels and running to the bathroom, Sam wondered why they never thought about washing their hands first, he always had to remind them, they were just as stubborn as Noah was. Once they came back and sat down, the kids started eating. Sam looked around and smiled at the hungry children and closed his eyes, sending a silent prayer to make sure that puck would come home safely.

Then what felt like a terrible fire seared into his back and it arched, he cried out, fingers gripping and shaking the table. The kids looked horrified and there was nothing he could do or say, his voice wouldn't come.

—

He felt a burning sensation shoot up his back as a hot bullet forced itself inside him, followed by 4 more. The air was knocked out of him and his eyes widened in shock, he collapsed to the ground. No, no, no, no. This wasn't right, he wasn't supposed to die, he only had a week left and he'd be able to see his family. What about the welcome back hugs and kisses? What about seeing Sam's face again? Worried thoughts and a racing mind calmed and his vision went black.

—

Waking up in his bed, Sam had wondered what happened earlier, he remembered not being able to answer the kids when they wondered what was wrong and now the only thing on his mind was Puck. He checked his phone, it was 9:00 in the morning and he had a text message.

[From Rach: The kids called and said you'd fainted so we came to pick them up. They're at my house, safe. Feel better.]

He was glad for his kids were okay. He padded out of the bed room and went to open the front door to go get the newspaper and was greeted by an unknown man who seemed as if he was about to knock.

"How may I help you?" He said drowsily, hands going up to bock the sun from burning his eyes.

"It's your husband, Noah Puckerman—" It seemed like their voices were drowned out and all he could see was their lips moving.

When the man started talking, it was then when Sam noticed the green camouflage outfits, the sad looks on their faces and a box in one's hand. He lost the feeling in everything below his waist, collapsing into the army men before him, sobs jutting out of his mouth uncontrollably.

Distraught by sadness, Sam pulled himself up and darted out past the front lawn on to the street, the speed of a football player taking him all the way to the corner of the street. He was going to find his husband and he didn't care who said and what actually happened. He just had to see his mohawked love. He _had to._ He tripped over his feet, face crashing into the ground. He lay there, sobbing and choking, hands curled into fists, his husband was dead.


End file.
